A Silent Save Me
by ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: Neal Caffrey is a new agent with the bureau, but he quickly realizes that his life of secrets cannot continue the way it is when he's got Peter Burke as a partner and mentor. Something has to give. Will it be his new life as a white collar agent, or his relationship with Vincent Adler? Pilot AU
1. Chapter 1

"Hold me. Tell me everything's okay. Show me there's a way to beat the monster. Save me. Make it go away."

~Monster — Itchy Daze

(I decided to split this one into two parts. I'm mostly done with it, but I didn't want you guys to wait any more so here's part one! Leave a review and part two will be up that much sooner!)

Neal was anxious, but excited when he stepped out on the 21st floor of the New York FBI office. White Collar Crime, that was it. When he'd started out, he hadn't thought that was where he'd end up, but it was where he was now and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He'd only been here once before, but now there were way more agents, either at their desks or walking around. Neal smiled at each one on his way up to Director Hughes' office. Hughes was a bit of a scary guy, but Neal had already met him once and he took a liking to him. He wasn't sure why.

His first day as a real agent went about as smoothly as he'd hoped for, which was great. He met Agent Peter Burke, who was going to be a sort of mentor to him. Peter seemed friendly enough, but Neal could already tell he was a stickler for rules and procedures. Still, it was all so exciting, even when all he did for the whole day was go over files with an agent named Jones. He was cool too, a bit of a joker like Neal. He had a feeling they were going to get along well.

By the time the day was over, Neal still felt like the new guy, and he hadn't really gotten the chance to talk to anyone besides Jones, but tomorrow was another day. He'd see if Peter was interested in going for a coffee around lunchtime. Then they could get to know each other better. If Neal was going to have a mentor, he wanted to know him well.

The excitement of the day faded when he reached home. Vincent's car was there. That meant he was home. Neal wondered apprehensively what kind of mood he was in.

When he walked in the door, he spotted the other man on the couch, feet propped up as he watched something on the TV. Hearing Neal, he glanced over with a smile.

"How'd it go?"

Neal felt relief. Good, he wasn't angry about anything. "It was great," he said, kicking off his shoes to place them neatly by the door. "I have a mentor, and he seems pretty smart, so I think I'll learn a lot from him."

Vincent hummed, but Neal had a feeling he'd stopped listening already.

"You gonna make dinner?"

Yep. "Yeah, I was just gonna change into something more comfortable," Neal replied, already taking off his suit jacket.

Vincent sighed, and Neal looked at him uncertainly. He wasn't sure what that meant. With Vincent, it was hard to tell, so he changed quickly, coming back downstairs to find the couch empty and the light in the kitchen on.

Neal walked in, surprised to find his boyfriend already putting a pan on the stove.

"I was just gonna do that," Neal said.

"I got it," Vincent said. His voice wasn't hard, but Neal could sense that he was mad about something now, so he stood hesitantly in the doorway, not sure if he should insist on helping or let Vincent do it himself.

"Need help?" he asked eventually.

"What, you think I can't cook?" Vincent snorted.

Neal immediately regretted it. "No, sorry, I just thought..."

"Mmhm."

He wasn't sure what that meant either, so he left the room, already anxious enough. He didn't want to play any more guessing games.

Dinner went fine. They had a quiet conversation, and Vincent didn't poke at him any more than usual. By the time dishes were done and everything was put away, Neal was tired so he went up to their bedroom, falling asleep before Vincent joined some time later.

-)()(-

The second day started pretty well. Vincent had already left by the time Neal woke up, so he didn't have to deal with that at 6 AM. Once again, he felt excited as he made his coffee, grabbed a bite of breakfast, and headed off to the bureau.

Today was the day he and Peter Burke would become friends. He was sure of that.

Jones greeted him at the elevators, and they rode up together, along with a woman Neal hadn't seen before, so he gave her a bright smile and wished her a good morning. He was pleased to get a smile in return and an echoing greeting.

Peter was in his office already, so Neal trotted up the steps, knocking on the doorframe before stepping inside. "Morning, Peter."

"Morning, Caffrey," Peter returned, and from his tone, Neal guessed it was only out of politeness and habit. Also, last name basis? That was going to have to change if there were going to be partners. "I left some files on your desk," the senior agent continued, not even glancing up.

Neal nodded. "On it." As he headed back down to the bullpen, he felt a surge of determination. First thing to do: get Peter to acknowledge his existence. Easy enough. All he had to do was exactly what he was told, except he intended to exceed expectations.

The files on his desk were quite boring, and Neal could tell they'd given him the ones no one else wanted. No big deal. He was a smart guy.

There were two of them, the first one actually quite simple to solve. The other took more time than he'd wanted, but after some extensive research and a short conversation with Jones, he finished it as well. By that time is was almost lunch and Neal smiled to himself, quite pleased. Maybe Peter would grab some food with him since he'd gotten these done.

He carried them up to his mentor's office, finding him on the phone with someone, so he waited outside, leaning against the railing overlooking the bullpen. Jones glanced up at him curiously, and Neal gave him a quick smile. He also noticed the woman from earlier in the elevator sitting at a desk behind Jones', typing away on a computer. Neal took a moment to admire her, but his thoughts were interrupted when he heard Peter call his name. Still sticking with "Caffrey". Well, it was early yet.

Neal walked in and placed the files on Peter's desk, and Peter looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "How many did I give you this morning?"

"Two," Neal answered. "That's all of them."

"And you finished them?" Peter questioned, still looking like Neal had just told him something unbelievable.

"Problem?" Neal asked, head tilted in worry. Maybe he'd done something wrong already. Wouldn't that just be fantastic...

"No," Peter said hastily. "No, I just... That was fast."

"It was?" Neal questioned. "I mean, I thought you were starting me off easy or something. I hope I didn't mess anything up."

"Well, I'll take a look at them," Peter said.

Neal nodded. "Okay." He made to walk out, but paused in the doorway, calling back. "Oh, hey. After that, do you wanna go grab some lunch? I know this great sandwich shop a couple blocks over."

For a moment, he was sure that Peter was going to say no, but then he smiled a bit, seeming amused by something. "Sure, kid," he said.

Neal's smile broadened and he headed back to his desk, feeling accomplished. But until Peter got done looking over those files, he didn't have much to do, so he leaned back in his chair, playing with a couple rubber bands he'd found in one of the drawers.

By the time Peter emerged from his office, he'd found several more and was already starting a rubber band ball, but he set that aside as Peter approached his desk, looking at him oddly. "Okay, who helped you?" he asked.

Neal looked at him in confusion. "Nobody..." He picked up the clump of rubber bands. "These are actually quite easy to make."

"The case files," Peter corrected. "Who helped you with them?"

"Nobody," Neal said again.

Peter narrowed his eyes, but when Neal didn't even blink, he shook his head. "Alright, come on. Show me this oh so amazing sandwich place."

Neal grinned and stood, happily leading the way.

-)()(-

The day with Peter couldn't have gone better, in Neal's opinion, and though the agent still called him "Caffrey", they had gotten to know each other quite well. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and Neal planned on doing lunch again with him.

When he got back home that evening, he was practically bursting, waiting to tell Vincent all about his day.

That excitement came to an abrupt end when he walked through the door and heard his boyfriend arguing loudly on the phone with someone, pacing back and forth in the living room.

The smile slipped from Neal's face and he took off his shoes quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

Too late. Vincent glanced over, spotting him and making a gesture Neal didn't understand, so he stayed put, assuming he was being told to wait because Vincent had something to tell him or something to ask.

He tried not to listen to the conversation, but that was difficult when Vincent was talking so loudly and angrily. He looked at the floor, lost in thought until he noticed a sudden lack of shouting. When he looked back up, Vincent was tossing his phone onto the couch, his movements taut with anger.

"I told you to go upstairs," he snapped, "Not stand there and listen to my call."

"I don't know what this means," Neal protested, copying the gesture from earlier.

"Oh whatever," Vincent snorted. "You just wanted to be an asshole."

Neal sighed shortly, but said nothing, turning to head upstairs and take a shower. There was no point in arguing when he was always wrong.

He thought he would actually get some peace and quiet. Vincent usually stayed downstairs later than he did, but halfway through his shower, he heard the door open and called, "The light being on usually means someone's in here."

"Yeah, yeah," Vincent replied.

A moment later, Neal jumped when his boyfriend stepped into the shower with him. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Vincent smirked, circling his arms around him from behind.

Neal sighed. He'd never gotten used to the way Vincent could just bounce back and forth between emotions like that. One minute he'd be angry, and the next he'd act all nice like this. He wasn't about to complain. At least he was in a good mood now.

"I love you," Vincent murmured into his ear.

"I love you too," Neal smiled, turning around to give him a long, satisfying kiss.

-)()(-

"Hey, Neal."

Neal glanced up from his desk, seeing Jones beckoning to him. Several other agents were already on their way up to the conference room, and Neal looked at Jones questioningly. "Me?"

"Do you see anyone else around here named Neal?" Jones said, amused. "Come on, we've got a case. Peter wants us all working leads."

Neal leaped up and followed his friend. Only his fifth day here and already he was allowed to work on an important case. Maybe Peter would even let him out in the field.

Sitting at the table in his own chair, listening to Peter go over everything they knew, Neal was ecstatic. He listened carefully, and spoke up when something came to mind or someone asked a question that no one else seemed to know the answer to. By the time the twenty-five minute meeting was over, they'd developed several good leads, and Neal practically dashed back to his desk to work on one.

The Dutchman. This was going to be quite the case.

He was right, he quickly realized. Quite the case. Even he was having trouble piecing together anything they could use, and it seemed everyone else in the office was having no better luck.

Lunch hour came, and Neal once again asked Peter if he'd like to go have lunch again, maybe brainstorm together, but the other agent shook his head apologetically. "I promised my wife I'd have lunch with her today. Maybe tomorrow."

That was alright, Neal figured. He couldn't very well keep a man from his wife for the sake of conversation. He didn't mind eating alone anyway.

"Hey, Caffrey!"

Neal glanced over in surprise to see Jones and that female agent beckoning to him. She was the one who had called out to him. "Care to join us?"

Neal smiled brightly. "I'd love to."

"I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting," she continued as he headed over to them. "Diana Berrigan."

He shook her hand politely. "Nice to meet you. So, Jones, you're buying?" he asked with a smirk.

Jones smirked right back and took a penny from his pocket, holding it up with a pointed look. "How about I flip you for it?"

"You call it."

The coin flew up in the air and as Jones caught it and slapped it against his hand, he said, "Heads!"

Neal and Diana both leaned close as he removed his hand, revealing the penny tails-up. Jones groaned while Diana laughed.

"Next time, Caffrey, it's your turn."

"Fair enough."

-)()(-

Home.

Vincent was in a bad mood again. This time, though, the air was thick with something that made Neal more nervous than usual, and after kicking off his shoes and having his coat up, he crept upstairs before his boyfriend could notice him. He was careful to keep quiet.

Vincent had been having business troubles apparently, and today had not gone well. He never told Neal exactly what he did, only that he dealt with expensive things so he wasn't supposed to say anything about it, even to a significant other. Neal was curious, of course, but he didn't dare go prying into Vincent's business. It hurt a little, yes, knowing that Vincent didn't trust him, but at the same time, Neal got the feeling that it was better he didn't know everything. There were times when Vincent would say something, usually an offhanded comment on the phone, that didn't sound quite right.

Even so, Neal kept his mouth shut and did his best to ignore it, whatever it was. He loved Vincent too much to upset him.

Tonight, though, things changed for the worse.

When Neal ventured back downstairs, Vincent was nowhere to be seen, so he figured he must have gone out somewhere. He relaxed, his steps less timid as he turned off the TV and headed to the kitchen.

He nearly had a heart attack when he ran smack into Vincent on his way out.

"Jesus Christ!" Vincent snapped, giving him a rough shove. "What are you doing?"

Neal winced. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were home."

"Where else would I be?" Vincent snapped. Whatever he was frustrated about, he seemed to be blaming it on Neal already. "You're home late. Where have you been? I called you ten minutes ago."

Neal didn't meet his gaze. "We were working an important case. I... must have lost track of time."

"You have a clock to look at, don't you? How about you try checking it? And why didn't you answer my call? It went straight to voicemail."

"My phone died. I was gonna charge it when I got home. It's upstairs," Neal answered, his voice quiet as he gestured vaguely behind him to the steps.

Vincent snorted. "Yeah, I've heard that one before. So where have you been?"

"I told you, we—"

"Yeah, important case," Vincent interrupted. "With that agent you won't shut up about?"

Neal saw where this was going, and his heart beat faster. "What? No, it's not like that!"

"Then what's it like?" Vincent questioned sharply. "You've got nothing but good things to say about him. What, you think I'm stupid?"

If Neal's back wasn't already against a wall, he would have stepped further away. He felt trapped. There was no arguing with Vincent. It would just make him angrier. "I promise I'll call you if I'm gonna be late again," he said, still not raising his voice.

"Sure you will," Vincent muttered, but thankfully moved away. "I'm going out."

Neal flinched when Vincent walked by, his shoulder bumping his roughly. He stayed put, listening as Vincent's footsteps headed over to the door, then he flinched again when the door slammed shut.

Tears stung his eyes and he wiped at them quickly. He didn't need to cry right now. Crying was stupid and it only ever made things worse.

He stood in the kitchen for a while, not hungry anymore, but almost afraid that if he moved, Vincent would come back and yell at him for it.

'That's ridiculous,' he told himself harshly. He walked back upstairs, sitting on the bed, but unable to sleep now. He knew Vincent probably wouldn't be back for hours, but all the same, he was tense, waiting for the door downstairs to slam again, and heavy, angry footsteps to come marching up to their room.

Neal rubbed his face with his palms, sighing. Tonight was a bad night. But maybe in the morning things would be better.

-)()(-

"Neal."

The quiet voice woke him instead of his alarm, and Neal stirred, lifting his head a bit to see Vincent beside him. Cautiously, Neal smiled. "Good morning."

Vincent smiled back. "Good morning." He leaned forward to give him a kiss, which Neal returned. He was just glad that the events of last night seemed to have been forgotten.

"What time is it?"

"Almost six," Vincent replied. "I don't have to go anywhere today. You wanna take the day off with me?"

Neal hesitated. He did want to, but the Dutchman case... They needed him for that. "I don't know if I should," he replied, and as he said it, he regretted it when Vincent's eyes lost their friendliness. "It's just, that important case," Neal continued. "I need to be there today. But I promise once it's over, we'll take a day off, okay?"

"Maybe," Vincent replied. "I don't know when I'll be free again, but sure." His good mood was gone, though, and Neal panicked, sitting up to place his hand over Vincent's before he could get out of bed.

"Stay for a bit," he said. "I don't have to be there for another couple hours."

Vincent said nothing, but Neal was relieved when he stayed put, moving closer to plant another kiss on his cheek.

-)()(-

"You look like hell," Diana commented when Neal walked into the office, and he looked at her with a wry smile.

"Thanks. Didn't get much sleep last night."

Jones laughed from his desk. "Boy, you really must want to crack this case."

Neal let them think that was the reason he was sleep deprived. Vincent was much too complicated to explain. "It's my first big one," he said. "And if I'm gonna get Peter to stop calling me 'Caffrey', it's important."

Jones shook his head at that. "Good luck. He calls everyone by their last name."

"Not Diana," Neal said pointedly. "You just watch."

Irritatingly enough, it wasn't Neal who got their first lead, but he was excited to be on the team that got to go investigate.

It was a safe, one of the Dutchman's. This was the closest they'd ever gotten, so Hughes sent a big team, Neal included. Peter was leading, of course, and once they had thoroughly checked the area, they all turned their attention to the safe.

Neal stood back and watched as one of the agents got everything ready to crack it, and a glance at Peter told him that his partner was feeling just as tense and excited as he. The energy in the air seemed to be thick with it.

"Drop three," the agent at the safe announced after what felt like a long time. Neal had his eyes glued to the monitor showing a view inside the safe.

Another pin moved. "Drop two."

And finally, "Drop four."

Everyone gave a collected sigh of relief and Neal caught Jones' eye, grinning. They had it.

However, when Neal looked to Peter, he saw the senior agent's brow furrowed in deep thought, and suddenly his eyes widened. "Wait!"

Too late. The safe exploded in the other room, filling it with dust and smoke. Everyone rushed in and the agent who had been at the safe got back on his feet, coughing. "What happened?"

"I said wait!" Peter snapped. "You didn't wait!"

"Agent Burke, how'd you know it was gonna do that?" Jones asked.

"324. Look at your phones," Peter replied. "What's it spell?"

FBI. Neal kicked himself for not seeing that earlier. He stood back, feeling his hope sink along with everyone else's. However, he quickly noticed the odd red string-like substance that had come along with the dust from the blast. He took a piece between his fingers and examined it thoughtfully while Peter demanded answers out of anyone and everyone in the room. It was easy to tell that he was pissed. Neal didn't blame him. It had been a long time since the bureau had been so close to the Dutchman.

The day ended with no further answers, and Neal had to go home feeling severely under-accomplished. Vincent was there, and he was just as angry as the night before, if not worse. Something at work must have been pissing him off, and Neal was paying the price for it.

That night, things got rough...

-)()(-

"You okay?"

The question caught Neal off guard and he glanced up from his desk where he was examining some of the red stuff from the other day.

Diana was looking at him oddly, and after she asked, Jones joined her. "Yeah, Caffrey, you look like hell. Is that a bruise on your face?"

Neal reached up to touch the sensitive skin along the side of his cheek. "Oh, that," he mumbled. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing." In truth, it had been Vincent, but he had no intention of telling that to them. They wouldn't understand.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," Peter's voice butted in, startling Neal even more. "Did someone hit you?"

"No!" Neal insisted. "I just... I was being clumsy with a cabinet last night, that's all."

Peter looked at him for a moment with the same expression as Jones and Diana, but thankfully, he didn't press. "Got anything on that yet?" he questioned, gesturing to the red string on Neal's desk. "The lab's coming up with squat."

"Well, maybe," Neal said, "But it's..."

"Spit it out."

Neal held up one of the pieces and handed it to Peter. "A security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill."

Peter looked at it, then at Neal, then back. "How would you know?"

Neal felt several pairs of eyes on him, and he tried to ignore that. "Well, uh, I do a lot of research. Plus, I used to know a guy."

Peter looked at the fiber in his hand, then pointed at Jones. "You got that?"

"On it," Jones replied.

"I'll go make a few calls," Diana offered. "Let's see if you're right, Neal."

-)()(-

As the week progressed, they got closer to the Dutchman than ever before, but as of yet, they had no pliable evidence.

And also, as the week progressed, Vincent's mood went downhill. Neal finally decided to ask what was wrong and if there was anything he could do to help, which turned out to be a mistake. Vincent took it as Neal prying into his affairs, and that didn't go over very well.

It was late and it was cold, but Neal found himself out walking the streets, tears stinging his eyes and a new bruise over the one that had already been there. He wouldn't be able to hide that tomorrow.

What had happened to the man he'd fallen in love with? When had that loving, sweet person turned into a monster? Neal remembered them going out, having fun together, laughing, just being happy that they had each other. When had that stopped?

He hated what Vincent had become, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Vincent would be heartbroken and angry. Neal didn't want that.

He spent another hour walking until he got too cold, so he reluctantly headed back. Vincent was asleep when he got there, which was a relief, but he didn't dare crawl into bed, so he went back downstairs and slept on the couch the rest of the night.

He was a little sore in the morning, but he didn't mind. He got ready in ten minutes and walked out the door, not running into Vincent. He grabbed a coffee on the way, which would have to do for breakfast because he didn't feel like making it himself. Any excuse to leave early.

The office was already buzzing with excitement when Neal walked in and Diana beckoned him over right away, her eyes alight with amusement.

"What's got everyone so riled up?" Neal asked.

"You," Diana said. "You were right about the security fibers. The Canadian secret service are really curious to know how you figured it out."

"Lucky guess," Neal shrugged. "So where does this leave us?"

Peter's voice spoke instead of Diana's. "Actually, you and I are investigating a new lead."

Neal turned to see his partner walking over, shrugging on his jacket. "Airport. Customs triggered our BOLO on Snow White."

"Snow White," Neal hummed. "The phrase you decoded from a suspected Dutchman comunicade at Barcelona."

"Yeah, we all read the file," Peter said. "Let's go see what triggered our alert."

-)()(-

"Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos?" Peter questioned as they stood in a room full of suitcases filled with books, one of which he held in his hand, squinting at it as he read the title.

"Snow White and her Seven Little Men," Neal translated.

"This is what triggered our alert? What do we know about this guy?" Peter asked, looking to Diana.

"Says he's a rare book dealer," she answered.

"Anything wrong with his paperwork?"

"Nope. He brought in the same books in the same quantity on three previous trips. He declared them each time."

Neal examined the books briefly as well. "Well they're not limited runs or special editions. Can't be worth much."

"So why go through all the trouble of flying them in?" Peter asked.

"Good question."

Diana tilted her head. "He sure is nervous for having all the right paper work."

"I want to talk to him," Peter said, putting the book in his hands back where he'd gotten it.

"I'll set it up," Diana said with a nod.

Neal kept his focus on the books for a moment before following Diana and Peter out of the room. He was missing something already. He knew it.

"Hey," Diana said while Peter went to that meeting with Fields. "Wanna tell me the truth about that bruise on your face?"

Neal was caught off guard. "What?"

"Come on, Neal," she said. "Don't tell me a cabinet did that."

Neal shrugged, feigning inncoence. "It wasn't a cabinet. It was a door this time." It was a pathetic lie and they both knew it. She wasn't letting him get away with it, he knew, but this wasn't the time nor the place.

Peter came back, looking irritated about something. "Where's the customs inspector?" he demanded, and Diana nodded to the man, who was already making his way over.

"Why didn't you tell me the guy lawyered up?" Peter asked once the inspector was close enough. "As soon as he makes that call, I can't talk to him."

The man looked puzzled. "He didn't call anybody."

"Then how did his lawyer know that he—" Peter cut himself off suddenly and Neal got a bad feeling. Peter immediately dashed back to where Fields had been, Neal and Diana at his heels, but it was too late.

Neal stayed back a short distance, spotting the needle jammed into the Fields' neck.

"Damn it!" Peter snapped. "Nobody frisked the lawyer!"

-)()(-

Neal didn't say much after that, even after they returned to the room full of Snow White books and searched again for more clues. But then he found something, the top sheet of each book, and he and Peter quickly realized what the game was here.

The Dutchman wanted to copy something that had originally been printed on paper like that. Published in 1944 Madrid, Spain. From there, it was easy to trace Fields' steps back to a museum, and it was there they got another huge lead.

The Spanish Victory Bond. It probably would have been more awe-inspiring if it were even the real thing. To Neal's eyes, it was easy to tell, and he couldn't help but feel accomplished when he managed to impress Peter with that catch. But now they were back to no new leads and several dead ends. The day ended, and Neal was ready to return home, exhausted, but Diana intercepted him at the elevators and he knew what was coming.

They stepped in together and Diana glanced over. "I don't want to push you, Neal, but I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," Neal insisted with a reassuring smile. It didn't fool her.

"Neal," she said, "Please just be careful, okay? Talk to someone if you need to. We're all your friends here. You know that, right?"

Neal just nodded. Of course he knew that. And he knew what he should do, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Vincent was all he had. Without him... well, he didn't want to think about it.

-)()(-

The house was dark when Neal got there and he walked inside, calling, "Vince? You here?"

He could see a small light from the kitchen and he furrowed his brow, puzzled as he removed his shoes and coat before walking in.

He was stunned to see dinner all set out with candles and flowers on the table.

"You're home," Vincent's voice purred as a pair of arms circled around him from behind.

"What is all this?" Neal asked, smiling.

"Dinner," Vince replied. "Remember when we used to do things like this all the time? I got to missing it."

Neal turned around, his smile widening. "Well what's the occasion?"

"I need an occasion?" Vincent snorted. "Please. Come on, food's getting cold."

For once, home was a great place to be. Neal knew Vincent was only trying to make up for his previous behavior, but still. It was a nice gesture and he was going to enjoy every bit of it.

-)()(-

Voices from downstairs woke him up and Neal glanced blearily at the bedside clock, which read three in the morning. Who was downstairs at this hour?

He moved to nudge Vincent awake, only to realize he wasn't there.

Neal sat up, puzzled and wary. Who was Vincent talking to and why so early? The voices downstairs, one of which he now recognized as his boyfriend, were tense. It sounded like the two people were arguing, but trying to be quiet about it.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Neal slipped out of bed and crept quietly out of their room, pausing at the top of the stairs.

Vincent's voice drifted up to him. "I don't care what you did four months ago. I can handle it."

The other voice was low and harder to hear, a heavy accent lining his words. "You know what needs to be done. Don't you think it's a big coincidence that your boyfriend is part of the FBI team investigating you? What all does he know? What have you told him?"

They were talking about him. But none of that made sense.

"He doesn't know," Vincent said. "And I plan to keep it that way. Now holster your damn gun. I've got this under control."

"You'd better. I'll give you one week. If the feds aren't off our tail, we do this my way."

"Fair enough," Vincent replied. "One week. After that, you can put a bullet in his brain."

Neal froze. No, they couldn't be talking about him. Vincent would never. But even if they weren't, who were they planning to kill? Why? What did all this have to do with the FBI?

He heard the door open and close, then Vincent's frustrated sigh. Hastily, Neal retreated back to their room, crawling into bed and pretending to still be asleep when Vincent came back up. Neal felt him lay back down, being slow and careful not to wake his supposedly sleeping lover.

Neal spent the rest of the night awake, thoughts racing. He hoped Vincent didn't notice the rapid pace of his heartbeat.

When morning came, he heard Vincent get up and go downstairs. Half an hour later, he was out the door and Neal sat up, rubbing his eyes. A bad feeling had settled in his stomach and he didn't bother with breakfast before heading in to the bureau a little early.

He wasn't going to tell them. Maybe he'd heard wrong or maybe it had all been just a bad dream.

Who was he kidding? He knew what he'd heard. At the very least, he knew Vincent was planning to kill someone in a week. And at the worst...

"Caffrey," Peter greeted as he walked in, looking deep in thought, probably about the Dutchman case. But he paused just past Neal's desk and turned around, puzzled. "You're here early."

"So are you," Neal returned, hoping that would be that.

Peter seemed to regard him oddly for a moment, then beckoned for him to follow. "Come here."

Neal stood, feeling like a kid being led to the principal's office, even if he'd done nothing wrong. Well, as far as he knew.

They climbed the stairs to Peter's office and the senior agent gestured for Neal to sit while he took his jacket off and draped it over the back of his chair.

"What's going on, Neal?"

No more "Caffrey"?

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I mean you've been going downhill since you started out here," Peter said almost gently. "You've got bags under your eyes, mysterious bruises, and while I greatly appreciate all the help you've been, I'm starting to ask myself if you're cut out for this line of work."

Neal's eyes widened. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just concerned," Peter replied. "I care about my agents and i don't want to see you run yourself into the ground over this case."

"It's not..." Neal sighed. "It's not the case. Alright? It has nothing to do with that."

'Or everything to do with it,' a small voice told him. He pushed it down fiercely.

"Then what is it?" Peter asked, leaning forward attentively.

Neal hesitated. He knew he should be talking, but he didn't want Vince to get in trouble.

"Neal... I want to help. Whatever it is, I promise you it'll be okay."

Neal bit his lip, glancing over his shoulder as if Vincent would be standing there armed with one of his murderous glares. He sighed, then turned back to face Peter. "Wanna go get coffee?"

Peter nodded. "I would love to."


	2. Chapter 2

Neal didn't intend to tell Peter everything, but once he started, it all came flooding out. Falling in love with Vincent, moving in together, the start of the hurtful comments that led to the occasional shove or smack, the nights he had to leave the house because he couldn't take it, and then finally the conversation he'd heard last night.

Through it all, Peter listened, occasionally sipping his coffee or shifting his position at their table in the corner.

Neal felt horrible, like he'd betrayed some secret and now things with Vince would never be the same. But at the same time, some weight had been lifted. He didn't have to do this alone.

"I'm glad you told me, Neal," Peter said. "I know it wasn't easy, but you did the right thing."

"I can't leave him," Neal said almost desperately. "He's all I have. He's my family."

Peter held up three fingers and Neal looked at him in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Peter counted off each one. "Jones, Diana, and me. We're your family too. We care about you, and we don't want to see you hurt."

Neal ducked his head a bit with a small smile. "Diana threatened to break both my arms."

"That's what sisters are supposed to do, isn't it?" Peter teased. "But seriously. If you need to talk to anyone or if you need someone to hang out with, we're all here. Anytime, all you gotta do is ask."

"Thank you, Peter," Neal said quietly.

"You're welcome, Neal."

Neal smiled.

No more "Caffrey".

-)()(-

Neal didn't want to go home. He'd had the whole day to think, and after some new evidence had come to light, he was now positive that Vincent was involved in this Dutchman case.

The Goya painting on the fake bond. Neal had found the initials C.H. hidden in the picture, unnoticeable to someone who wasn't looking for it. Curtis Hagan. He knew the name. He was a friend of Vincent's, one who spent a lot of time restoring old church paintings.

Neal had never liked him. Hagan was the essence of a British villain, and he always looked like something had pissed him off.

He stayed as late as he could at the office, pretending to go over the Dutchman file one last time before finally deciding to face the inevitable.

The worst part was pretending that everything was fine. They couldn't tip Vincent off that they knew, so Neal had to act like nothing had changed while also trying to get as much information as possible. It was going to be hard, but Peter assured him that it would all be over soon and he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. He'd be free.

"That you?" Vincent called as Neal walked in.

"Yeah," Neal said. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up in a case. Lost track of time."

Vincent glanced over at him from the couch, patting the space beside him. "Tell me about it."

Neal gave him a pointed smile. "You know I'm not allowed to discuss ongoing investigations." But he came and sat down anyway, happy that Vince was in a good mood tonight.

"Well then let me tell you about my day," Vincent said, draping an arm around Neal's shoulder almost too affectionately.

Neal looked at him questioningly. "I thought you weren't allowed to discuss your job either." This could be it. Some substantial evidence.

"Oh, no," Vincent said. "Not about that."

"What, then?" Neal asked. Something felt... off here.

"Well, it was nice and sunny around lunchtime," Vincent started, "So I decided to go out and grab a bite to eat. There's this coffee shop not far from where I was. They have the best muffins."

Neal knew exactly where this was going and he felt his heart fill with dread, but he couldn't pull away with Vincent's arm around him, a little tight now.

"Well, I walked in there," Vincent continued, "And you'll never guess who I saw."

"Vince—"

"It was you, Neal. I saw you. Now, I would have joined you, but it seemed you already had company."

"Vince, I can explain. It's not like that."

"Oh, it's not? First you won't shut up about this Agent Burke and now he's taking you out for coffee. I think I know exactly what it's like."

"No, Peter's just a friend. He's my—"

"Boyfriend? How could you do this to me, Neal?"

"He's my partner!" Neal exclaimed, then winced. Wrong thing to say.

"Oh, that's what he is to you," Vincent said. "You call him Partner. What else do you call him? Do you scream his name like you screamed mine just a few days ago?"

Neal tried to get away, to put some space between them, but Vincent held tight, and Neal felt fear coursing through his veins. He couldn't get out of this. Vincent wasn't listening anymore, too engrossed in his rage.

"I trusted you, Neal! I gave you everything!" Vincent was shouting now and Neal closed his eyes against it, which was why the harsh slap came as a surprise and he gasped. His cheek stung and he looked at this... monster leaning over him. This wasn't the man he fell in love with. That man was long gone.

In a split second of bravery, Neal shoved Vincent off him roughly, eyes filled with anger of his own. "Stop it! Just stop!"

To his great satisfaction, Vincent seemed to pause, surprised. But it didn't last long and neither did Neal's confidence.

"Look at you," Vincent said. "Has Burke been getting inside your head? Do you feel powerful now that you're a big bad FBI agent?" He took a sudden step towards Neal, who flinched back, which made Vincent smile. "No? Don't ever speak to me that way again, understand? Do you understand me?!"

Neal said nothing, biting the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling.

"Get out of here, Neal," Vincent snarled. "Just know this: one word out of your mouth that I don't like to anyone, I'll end you. I swear I'll make your life miserable in every way. And I'll do the same to Peter Burke."

Neal stared at him in shock. He couldn't be serious. "Vince..."

"Go!" Vincent shouted, taking another threatening step towards him.

Neal needed no further encouragement.

-)()(-

"Hey."

Neal glanced up at the voice, unfamiliar. But then this place was full of unfamiliar people. He wanted to meet them all, make connections in this city.

He turned to the right to see a man looking at him, dark hair groomed to perfection and a smile that rivaled his own. "I don't recognize you. Have you been here before?"

"No, I haven't," Neal replied. He extended a hand for the stranger to shake. "Neal. Neal Caffrey." He'd spent so long in Nick Halden's shoes, his real name sounded like an alias.

"Vincent Adler," the handsome man said, shaking the hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Neal. Mind if I buy you a drink?"

So forward. Neal was a little caught off guard, but he smiled brightly. Who was he to pass up a drink with such a stunning creature? "Not at all."

Vincent was tall, strong, seeming to hold a strange power over everyone in the room. His eyes were like a bird of prey's, locking onto Neal and seeming able to gaze right through him, into his very soul. It made him shiver, but the sense of excitement that came with it was unlike anything he'd ever felt.

Every word, every gesture, it was grace and dignity personified. Neal was falling before he knew it.

They spent the rest of the evening together, talking, finding that they had a lot in common. Neal quickly forgot about why he'd come here in the first place, why he'd dressed up in a suit that made him feel awkward and uncomfortable.

That suit came off at Neal's place later that same evening. And in the morning, there was a single rose on the pillow along with a note written in elegant handwriting. A number and, 'with love, Vince'.

Neal smiled, twisting the rose between his fingers as he felt a blush appear on his cheeks. The rest of that day, the smile had never once disappeared from his face.

Now, as the memory crossed his mind, Neal wasn't smiling. It didn't bring red to his face, only tears to his eyes. What had happened between then and now? What had he done to deserve this? Where had his Vince gone? Why? His mind was full of questions that only made it hurt more.

He didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't go back home. But he had nowhere else. No one else.

Peter...

No. That would really be asking for it.

'Stop thinking about Vincent and think about yourself!' he thought angrily. 'You've already told Peter enough. He'll understand. He can help. He said he would.'

Decision made, he started off in that direction. It was late. Peter and his wife would probably be sleeping. Oh gosh, his wife. What would she have to say? Neal had never met her, so he wasn't sure how she would react to him showing up at her doorstep asking for Peter. Maybe this was a mistake. But no, it was his only option.

He knew where the house was. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. But once he reached it, he hesitated again. What was he doing? He could just find somewhere else. Someone else.

His hand was already knocking on the door and he stepped back a bit, trying to smooth his appearance before it opened.

A woman he assumed was Elizabeth answered the door and gave him a bright smile. "You're Neal, right?"

Neal was a little surprised that she knew him with a look, and he gave her an equally bright smile. "Guilty as charged. Sorry to drop in like this."

"Oh, no problem," she insisted. "Come on in." Over her shoulder, she called, "Peter, Neal's here!"

When the agent came in sight, he looked surprised, but not angry. He didn't even ask what he was doing here, just beckoned him inside. "Make yourself at home. Get you anything?"

"No, I'm alright, thanks."

Elizabeth gestured to the stairs. "You two talk. I'm just gonna go up to bed, okay, hon?"

"Goodnight, honey," Peter smiled, coming to sit in the chair across from the couch where he gestured for Neal to sit. "What's going on?" he asked once they were alone.

Neal struggled to find the words and Peter was patient. He was beginning to wonder if he should have come at all, but he was here now. After a moment of playing with his hands, he said, "I wasn't sure where else to go. Vince was pretty bad tonight."

Peter's eyes hardened, but more out of anger at Vincent, Neal was sure. "Did he hurt you again?"

Neal shook his head, even if it was a lie. "He saw us today getting coffee together and..." He shrugged helplessly and felt the threat of tears in his eyes, but forced them back again. Sometimes he despised his own sensitivity.

Peter, if he saw his struggle, didn't call him out on it. Instead, he gave him a small smile and said, "You're more than welcome to crash here tonight. Guest bedroom is all made up, down the hall to the left."

Neal gave him a grateful look. "Thank you, Peter. And sorry for—"

"You don't have to apologize about anything," Peter said firmly. He reached over to give Neal a pat on the knee."We'll talk in the morning, okay? Get some sleep."

As the agent disappeared upstairs, Neal watched him go, once again surprised by how easily he'd been accepted. He was beginning to question these last few years with Vincent. Had he really been so blind? Had he really not seen the lies, the manipulation, the abuse? Or maybe he had and he'd refused to acknowledge it.

Well, he was acknowledging it now.

-)()(-

Morning came quickly. Once his head had hit the pillow, it was surprisingly easy to fall asleep, even though his dreams were plagued by nightmares. He felt sick, but he knew he was making the right decision. He no longer loved Vincent the way he had before. It wasn't the same man he slept beside. Something had to change.

He rode with Peter to the office, and it was a quiet ride. Neal stared out the window, feeling sure of himself, and yet still wishing for things to just go back to the way they were. He wanted to go home, he wanted to kiss his lover again, he wanted to be lost in those eyes again, but he knew he never could.

"You gonna be okay?" Peter asked once they were in the elevator headed up to the 21st flor.

Neal nodded, showing more confidence than he actually felt. "Of course. Let's just focus on the case and figure out how Vincent and Hagan are connected." He saw Peter's hesitation, though, and he looked at the older agent in disbelief. "Don't say it. You are not pulling me from this investigation."

"It's Vincent Adler," Peter said, as if he didn't know that already. "I don't feel comfortable letting you go after the guy who hurt you like that."

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" Niel asked. "Kill him?"

"Or hurt him back."

"If you were in my shoes, would you do the same with Elizabeth?"

Peter looked appalled. "No!"

Neal looked at him pointedly. "I still love him. Despite everything he's done, I could never hurt him. So you have nothing to worry about, I promise you that."

Peter sighed. "Alright. But you stick with me on this, alright? Nothing stupid."

As the elevator doors opened and they stepped out, ready to work, Neal smiled. "Nothing stupid."

-)()(-

"How you holding up?"

Neal glanced up at Diana's voice, clearing his head of the endless papers and files in front of him. She'd brought coffee. "Not bad," he said, reaching out to take his when she handed it to him.

"Well, if you ever want to talk about 'not bad', I'm willing to listen," she said knowingly. She could read right through him.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with yet another convincing smile. He knew she was offering genuinely, but he never liked talking about his problems to other people. There had been a time when he would have talked to Mozzie, an old friend of his, but they hadn't seen each other in a long time. And Mozzie was a difficult person to get ahold of.

Come to think of it, he missed the little guy. He'd nearly forgotten about him after so many years. Vincent had somehow convinced him it was a bad idea to consort with conmen, and Neal had listened to him. He'd told Mozzie to get lost and now he was really regretting that. Vincent had been wrong.

After a few minutes, he climbed the stairs to Peter's office and tapped lightly on the doorframe, causing the man to glance up. "What's up, Neal?"

"I'm gonna take an early lunch. You mind?"

Peter looked at him the same way Diana had earlier. "Want some company?"

Neal shook his head, gesturing vaguely. "No, it's fine. I just need some air and I've been meaning to walk down to this oyster bar. Supposed to be the best in the city."

Peter gave him a dismissive wave. "Go right ahead. There's not much progress being made here anyway."

"Thanks, Peter."

-)()(-

As it turned out, Mozzie wasn't that hard to get in contact with. Estelle was still where she'd always been, and it didn't take much convincing to get her to fly. Neal watched her disappear into the sky and hoped Mozzie would even still want to talk. He wouldn't blame him if he still held a grudge for the way Neal had kicked him to the curb. But he hoped beyond all hope that his old friend would be willing to listen, and be there when he most needed him to be.

He wound up going to the oyster bar, even if it had only been part of the excuse to get out. It made him feel better, knowing he hadn't lied about that. He didn't like lying to Peter.

Tomorrow, hopefully, Mozzie would show up at the right time and place, and Neal could properly apologize to him. And also ask for his help. He knew it might be too much all at once, but he had to try. For the sake of the friendship they had once shared, and could again. Besides, if it meant taking down Adler, he was sure Mozzie would be on board. Those two had never gotten along.

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted those thoughts and he glanced at the ID, then immediately froze when he saw Vince's name on the screen. He stared at it, letting it ring once, twice, three times. Should he answer? Why? What reason did he have?

His curiosity got the better of him, though, and he held the phone to his ear, sliding the little green button over. "What do you want?" he said in way of a greeting, glad that his voice actually sounded strong.

"Neal," that familiar voice spoke. "What I want is for us to stop playing games."

"You started this," Neal said, "You're the one playing games."

"No, you started this. And now I'm going to finish it. Get the feds off my tail and I'll let you go. You can run off into the sunset with Peter Burke and never hear from me again."

"Just tell me one thing, Vincent."

"Is that a yes?"

Neal ignored that, hesitating before asking, "Was any of it real for you?"

Silence was his answer. Silence and the click of the line. Neal breathed a shaky sigh, putting the phone back in his pocket. That was it then.

No, he wasn't going to stop. If anything, he wanted to see Adler caught even more. And he'd rally his new friends to make that happen. He'd work day and night until they had a solid lead to follow.

Back at the bureau, he threw himself into doing just that, going through everything he knew to try and come uo with a plan of action. It didn't matter that he had very little luck. He was trying.

Evening rolled around and he was forced to face a new problem. He had to go back home at least one more time to gather his things. That would make it final.

Peter had been thinking the same thing, apparently, because when Neal left, flipping his hat onto his head, the other agent was there beside him, not saying a word. They both fell into silent agreement. No thank yous necessary. Neal was glad to have someone he trusted at his side, and that was all that mattered right now.

But when they walked up to the front door and Peter finally spoke to say, "Nice place," Neal suddenly had a moment of panic and he glanced at his friend reluctantly. "I don't think you should be here. If Vince comes back..."

"Then he'll have to go through me if he wants to try anything," Peter finished. "It's okay, Neal. You don't have to do this alone."

Neal sighed then nodded, opening the door and stepping inside. It felt like walking into enemy territory, but he ignored that, heading straight upstairs with Peter in tow.

He didn't want to be here longer than necessary, so he started gathering his things, bringing his suitcase out to stack his clothes in. He ignored the pictures on the bedside table, especially the one of him and Vincent in Paris, kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Peter noticed it, though, and Neal tried not to notice his noticing.

Luckily, they missed Vincent. Neither of them said a word on the way back, which Neal was grateful for. He was already fighting against his emotions. He couldn't do that and pay attention to conversation at the same time.

They hadn't really discussed it, but Neal came home with Peter again. Elizabeth seemed prepared, and she'd even made dinner for three. Clever woman. Peter was lucky to have her.

Neal didn't feel much like eating, though, so he excused himself and headed to the guest room, setting his two suitcases on the floor and immediately sinking into the mattress, lying flat on his stomach with his face buried in the pillow, mostly to muffle any noise.

He fell asleep against tears that soaked into the fabric.

-)()(-

The sun was at its highest and Neal looked out over the water. Riverside Park. Noon. Where was Mozzie?

The morning had gone okay. Elizabeth had made a huge breakfast for the three of them and this time, Neal hadn't been able to resist. Peter didn't patronize him by asking if he was okay. Instead, they drove to the bureau together, hoping to get an early start. They still had nothing new on Adler, Hagan, or what was going on.

Then Neal had taken his lunch break to head to the park. Peter had offered to come with him, but Neal had made up a plausible excuse to say no.

First off, Mozzie would never talk to him with a fed present, probably wouldn't get within ten miles of him. Second, Peter didn't need to know what sort of people he hung around with, not that Mozzie was bad. He was a con. Neal caught cons for a living. But he didn't fancy seeing his old friend behind bars.

"I hear you've made it to Suit status."

Neal smiled. That familiar voice could only mean that Mozzie had come after all. He turned to look at him, his smile brightening. "You haven't changed a bit."

Mozzie shrugged, stepping up beside him. "What can I say? I'm a regular Peter Pan. You, on the other hand... You look like one of them now."

Neal nodded, looking down at the ground. "It's good to see you again, Moz."

Mozzie snorted. "That's not what you said last time."

"I know. But that was a horrible mistake. I shouldn't have let Adler control me like that. And I'm sorry for making it seem like I didn't want you around."

Mozzie gazed out over the water, seeming to contemplate the words. "You don't have to apologize. I figured it was the snake behind it. So it's 'Adler' now? No 'Vince'?"

"It's over," Neal replied, nodding. He smiled, though there was no amusement in it. "And now my partner and I are investigating him and it feels like everything's changing too fast. I don't know which way is up, which way is down. And I've been thinking a lot about what happened between us. I feel guilty as hell. I just wanted to apologize."

"And ask for my help," Mozzie said knowingly.

"Moz..."

"You didn't have to say anything," Mozzie said. "I came here already on your side. That's what friends are for, right?"

Neal sighed, feeling like he could cry again. He hugged his friend tightly, saying a quiet, "Thank you."

"Now then, what can I do?"

-)()(-

"I found Hagan. There's this warehouse, down by the docks. Hagan runs it through a shell corporation out of Guatemala."

The look on Peter's face when he placed a small scrap of paper on his desk with an address scribbled on it was priceless. "We didn't know about this. How did you?"

"I don't think you rely on rumor as much as I do," Neal replied. He wasn't giving up Mozzie. Not anytime soon.

Peter looked like he wanted to question it, but the bureau had been after the Dutchman for too long. It could wait. "What do you say we go check it out?" he suggested, already standing up to slip his jacket on.

Neal smirked. "I say it's worth a look."

He hadn't stopped by earlier, wanting to bring it to Peter first, so even he didn't know what they were getting into here. He just hoped Mozzie's info would be enough.

The address led them to a warehouse district near the water and they easily located the particular warehouse that would be of interest to them. They kept quiet as they approached and as they leaned against one wall, trying to stay out of sight, Neal tilted his head, listening.

"You hear that?"

Peter glanced at him with a minute shake of his head. "Hear what?"

"Kind of a rhythmic shh-shh. That's a press. Damn it Peter, that is a printing press. He's printing the bonds in there right now, you can hear him!" He had picked up on it quickly, probably because he knew to listen for these kinds of things and he'd heard them way too often.

He hadn't forgotten about those bonds. The ones that would get them Hagan and after that, Adler. Things were finally coming together.

"How long until they're done?" Peter asked.

"A multicolor print shop as complicated as the Goya. Test proofs, ink formulation, perfect registration, he'll be running it for days."

Neal itched to just open the door. It was that easy. But he was an agent and he knew all about warrant law. All they had was sound coming out of a warehouse and nothing to link it to Hagan. They needed definitive proof before they acted. Already, an idea was forming.

"Hey," Peter said, nudging him out of his thoughts. "Good work."

-)()(-

Neal stayed with Mozzie now. He told Peter he'd found a temporary place of his own, which was true. He just hadn't mentioned the part where he'd be sharing it with a conman friend of his.

"So," Mozzie started, pouring them some Cabernet he'd scrounged up from places Neal didn't want to know about, "What makes you so sure that Hagan is the key to catching Adler?"

Neal looked at him questioningly. "They're friends. Hagan's bound to have something on him we could use. And Peter's pretty good at getting information he wants."

"You may want to reconsider that," Mozzie said. "Word on the street is that they've been having business troubles. Hagan is running that bond forging operation on his own."

Neal felt his hopes sink a bit. "Do the streets say anything else?"

"Quite a bit, actually, but nothing substantial. If I were Adler, though, I'd be going after Hagan."

Neal sat up straighter, eyes brightening. "But he hasn't yet. Hagan moved everything on him. He's hiding from both him and the FBI. We know where he is, Adler doesn't. We could use that."

"How?" Mozzie asked.

"I'm working on it."

Mozzie sighed and took a sip of his wine. "You plan on telling all this to the other Suits?"

Neal glanced over at him knowingly. "I won't tell them about you. Don't worry."

"And if they ask where you got this information?"

Neal shrugged with a smirk. "Like you said, word on the street." He offered the other man a genuine smile. "Thank you, Moz, really. I couldn't have asked for a truer friend."

Mozzie smiled right back. "You always were a charmer," he huffed in amusement. "I'm glad that snake is gone. You were never really you when it came to him. Like a lion, convinced it was a housecat."

Neal tipped his glass to Mozzie's with a slight clink. "Hear me roar."

-)()(-

"No."

"Peter—"

"Absolutely not, Neal," Peter said firmly. "I'm not putting you in that position."

"Then what's your plan?" Neal asked. He knew the FBI didn't have one, which made his their only option. "It has to be me. There's no other way. And we only have two days before someone dies. I know what I heard."

"And that someone could very well be you," Peter shot back. "All the more reason to keep you as far away from this as possible."

"We have nothing else," Neal said. "Sure we'll probably get Hagan anyway, but what about Adler? I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to let him walk."

"This is dangerous," Peter said.

"I heard you the first time. Do you really have that little faith in me?"

"It's not a matter of faith in you, it's about faith that Adler will even believe all this. He's not an idiot."

"I know that," Neal replied. "I know him."

Peter looked at him with a tight jaw and a conflicted glare. "I don't like this one bit."

"You're not standing in my shoes," Neal pointed out. "And I have no problem if it means we get Adler. I'm willing to risk it."

"You're asking me to let you play cat and mouse with a man we both know is dangerous."

"I'm asking you to help me take down a bad guy," Neal said. "Last I checked, that's what we do."

Peter sighed. "How do you plan on drawing him out? He knows you work for us. He'll be expecting a side angle here."

Neal looked at him and only hesitated a short minute before clasping his hands behind his back. "We should go get coffee."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"I need to tell you about Nick Halden."

-)()(-

The city was alive. Its pulse ran through the very ground beneath his feet, the air he breathed, the lights all around him.

Neal Caffrey was mesmerized. Only an week in New York and it felt like home to him already.

He settled in, he walked the streets, and he began to search for a purpose here. That was when he met Mozzie.

Theirs was an odd friendship. Mozzie knew a lot about the art of the con, something Neal had been teaching himself all these months away from home. Together, they made a formidable pair. Neal was daring. He was up for anything Mozzie concocted and he showed promise of being one of the greatest cons in history.

They steadily gained themselves a reputation, enough to warrant an alias or five. Neal Caffrey disappeared and Nick Halden became a clever trickster that called New York his canvas.

Nick Halden and his unknown little friend became well-known and liked by the con community. Everyone knew they kept their word, they were honest with their own, and they even helped out a few ne'er do well youth trying to move up in the world. And the cons they pulled were perfect. No loose ends, no mistakes, flawless in every way.

Until Vincent Adler wound his way into Neal Caffrey's heart, not realizing that he'd begun to stifle Nick Halden.

It wasn't long before the world stopped hearing of the trickster. He simply disappeared. And Neal Caffrey joined the real world again, leaving Mozzie behind.

...

"That's your story," Peter said with an incredulous stare.

Neal sat across from him, nonchalantly sipping his coffee. "That about sums it up."

"But you're an agent with the bureau! Neal, if anyone knew about this—!"

"I'd be ruined," Neal replied. "I know. But I trust you, Peter. You know who I am and you know I've never hurt anyone. I never would. That past is far behind me now."

Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I'm beginning to dislike these coffee conversations of ours. Neal, what you're asking of me..."

"I know," Neal said. "I'm asking you to hide this from the bureau. Everything I just told you. But only until after this thing with Adler is over. Then, if it still bothers you, I'll resign."

"You don't have to do that," Peter said with a shake of his head. "Now what's your plan with Adler?"

Neal smirked. "First, we do our jobs and get a forger off the streets of Manhattan."


End file.
